


There's an App for That

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Banter, Based on a Youtube Commercial, First Kiss, Flirting, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Tony Stark/Others - Freeform, Romantic Comedy, Steve POV, unconventional first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24874723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Thanks to the modern gig economy, Steve is the successful owner of a break-up service, i.e. people pay him to break up with their partners for them. One day, he gets the first break-up request for Tony Stark.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 243
Kudos: 1252
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	There's an App for That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nostalgicatsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgicatsea/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Для этого есть приложение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136693) by [Leshaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/pseuds/Leshaya)



>   1. Written for [Marvel Trumps Hate](https://marveltrumpshate.tumblr.com/), using nostalgicatsea's prompt of [this commercial of a “break-up service”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=repfLwivoWM). (Edit:) I forgot to add that it was a group of people who won this bid, thank you all!
>   2. This fic’s conceit involves Tony having multiple exes (Maya Hansen, Stephen Strange, Christine Everhart and Pepper Potts) but none of these relationships are depicted “on-screen”, since the fic is from Steve’s POV and he only learns about these relationships after they’re over.
>   3. Many thanks to flyingcatstiel for the edits. Remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to let me know about them in the comments.
> 


Not for the first time, Steve marvels at how running a break-up service is a great deal similar to running an ops. Beforehand there’s the mission detail, intel gathering and prep for the mission, and once he’s arrived on-site he’s fully on-guard and has all visible threats and exits triangulated in his head.

Today, the main threat Steve’s facing is a 5’ 10’’ redhead lady in a pantsuit and ponytail, her face polite and impatient as she takes the card Steve offers her. When she reads it, her eyes narrow, then widen. Her face changes, whereby the politeness takes on a slightly less sharp edge.

“You’re discreet,” Ms. Potts – Steve did his homework and knows who she is – says. He’s more surprised that she’s heard of the app, though maybe it’s her job to be on top of all relevant urban trends. “Come on, then. He’s inside.”

Steve’s handled a couple of orders in the Hamptons already, so he doesn’t gawk at anything he sees on the walk up and into Stark’s house; not the shiny Lotus out front, or the spotless neo contemporary décor inside, or the man himself as he half-stumbles out into the living room to greet them. Wealth and celebrity may cast a glamor, but Steve’s met enough famous people already that today he merely registers a slightly unkempt man in a tank top and jeans, slightly shorter than he looks on TV, and with distinct grease stains on his arms.

“Pep, I swear to God if you jettisoned the pizza—” Stark says.

“This is a different delivery.” Potts has incredible posture, and need only turn her body just so to draw attention to Steve’s presence.

Stark’s head swivels like one of those bobble heads, from Potts to Steve. He blinks, and Steve makes a quick guess of his mental state: sleep-deprived, maybe drunk, and may have difficulty listening to the message. Steve pulls out a smile – unthreatening but not overly familiar – and lifts a card up, its face towards Stark so that he can read it, not that he does.

“Good day,” Steve says. “I’m—”

“Is this, like, a subpoena?” Stark says. “Or if is someone suing me? Because if someone is suing me, you can just give the paperwork to Pepper.”

“No, sir,” Steve says, “I’m here to deliver a message on behalf of—”

“Wait, I’ve seen that somewhere.” Stark creeps forward and squints at the card. “ _Breaking & Sending. _Recycling furniture, is that it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Steve says. “If you’d let me read this message I have—”

Stark’s still reading the card. “ _’Dear John for the Twenty-First Century_ ’. Well, that’s …” He trails off and slowly straightens up. His eyes, now clear, focus on Steve’s face. “BS. _That_ BS?”

According to Natasha, the four most important traits needed for this job are: patience, improvisation, the ability to read people quickly, and the ability to run very fast. Steve’s good at all four, though he does prefer to leave that last one to only when really necessary. He considers Stark’s steady though surprised gaze, and reassesses his initial expectation.

In the lull, Steve takes out the letter. When they’d first launched the app, they used to read the messages directly from their phones, but Bucky found the advantage of printing them out. It makes the message feel more _real_ for the person being broken up with, plus it gives them something tangible to destroy if they want to.

“ _Dear Tony_ ,” Steve reads. “ _I know we’ve had good times_ —”

“Is that from Maya?” Stark says.

Steve clears his throat. “— _which will always be precious to me, but it’s_ —”

“Is that from Maya Hansen?” Stark darts forward, trying to grab the letter that Steve quickly holds out of his reach. “C’mon, if that’s from her—”

“Sir, please don’t touch me.” Steve backs up, and keeps backing up as Stark keeps coming. There’s a couch nearby, and Steve moves swiftly to put said couch between him and Stark, who at least only seems offended instead of angry. “Yes, it’s from Maya Hansen, sir.”

“You call me ‘sir’ one more time…” Stark says.

“Mr. Stark, then? Because I don’t think this situation warrants a first-name basis.”

“Okay… yeah, but not Mr. Stark. You can call me… Mr. Customer.”

“You are not the customer.” Steve waves the letter in the air. “She’s the customer.”

“That makes me…” Stark frowns. “The client? What’s the official term you use in this service business thing of yours?”

“Delivery points,” Steve says.

“Well that’s dehumanizing. How about ‘targets’.”

“Too ominous.”

“What you’re doing _is_ ominous, though,” Stark points out.

“We’ll take your feedback under consideration.”

Stark snorts. “You have a really good customer service face. Five stars.” He waits for a rejoinder but only gets more of said customer-service-face, because Steve recognizes delay tactic bluster for what it is. Stark sighs, then; acceptance, or at least the start of it. He puts a hand on his face, realizes that he’s just smeared grease on his forehead, and rolls his eyes at nothing. “Fine. Proceed.”

Steve lifts the letter. “ _I know we’ve had good times which will always be precious to me, but the opportunity I thought would never happen, has landed in my lap. By the time you receive this, I’ll be out of the country. I know that this isn’t the ideal way to go about it, and if I had the time I would’ve come to you myself_ —”

“Nu-uh,” Stark says promptly. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. Sorry, yeah, go on.”

“— _but we’ve always skirted the unorthodox, haven’t we? I’ll always be fond of you. Salute to the stars, Maya._ ” Steve folds the letter and lets it hang from his hand.

Stark eyeballs it, but makes no move to take it. Behind him, Ms. Potts approaches slowly, her eyes kind.

“It’s the right move.” Stark sounds calm and wistful. “She’s wanted that research contract for ages, wrote her damn thesis on the thing – _both_ of them. Hell of a woman.”

If this weren’t Steve’s job, he’d offer his commiseration. Thing is, he’d learned quickly that that kind of thing isn’t welcome, for not even the gentlest ‘I’m sorry’ can negate the fact that he’s the ‘face’ of the break-up that’s happening. Here’s the willing middle-man, ready for projection of any anger, sadness or relief that’s coming his way.

Stark, though, merely tips his head back and takes a deep breath. His eyes are steady when they meet Steve’s; his nod is business-like.

“Thanks.” Stark starts to wander off, hands thrust back into his pockets. “Pep, can you tip the guy?”

“Wait, no,” Steve says quickly. “You’re not the customer, you don’t need to—”

“Thanks!” Stark calls out, already halfway down a staircase that must lead to the basement.

Steve tries to make his exit, but Ms. Potts blocks his way with remarkable efficiency. She pushes a bill into his hand and says, “You can turn it down if you want, but we’d just send it to your company.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Steve says sheepishly. “It’s, it’s _unkind_ —”

“Well, break-ups can be complicated, aren’t they?” Ms. Potts says. “Just take this one, he’ll appreciate it.”

Steve still feels queasy about it, but after marching away from Stark’s Hampton house to where he’d parked his bike, he decided that he can drop the tip into a nice lunch for the crew, or swap out some of their older hardware. Natasha’d appreciate that, at least, though he doubts she’d believe where he got it from.

+

_Breaking & Sending_ wasn’t his idea, even if Steve technically owns the business. He, Natasha and Bucky brainstormed it about a year ago, though it was one among a dozen other ideas, and (in his opinion) the most ridiculous.

The project Steve gunned for during that brainstorming session was a chores app where people within their locality can pay for simple in-and-out household services that don’t necessarily need professionals, such as simple plumbing work, furniture installation, light-bulb changing, etc.

“How about expanding the scope,” Natasha had asked. “Be more creative than that.”

“What other things do people have to do, that they don’t want to?” Bucky said.

“Calculate their taxes,” Steve said.

“I said creative,” Natasha said. “Blue ocean it, come on. Like… make appointments over the phone.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Stand in line.”

“Sort their recyclables.”

“Break up with their partner,” Bucky said.

“Something realistic,” Steve said dryly.

“What?” Bucky countered. “If you can hook-up through an app, you should be able to break-up the same way.”

It sounded ridiculous at the time. Surely such a thing could never work – just the liability involved would be a tangled web too exhaustingly complicated to navigate. But Bucky stubbornly insisted, and they noted the suggestion down in their list, where Steve thought they’d never look at it again.

Meanwhile, they built and launched the household chore app. But, as tends to be the story of Steve’s life, they came at it a little too late, when there were already competitors who’d set up shop and networks on the ground. The app wasn’t a _failure_ , exactly, but it didn’t justify what they’d put into it.

So, as per Natasha’s own words, they expanded their scope. Time passed, and as with many things in a fast-paced era where ‘normal’ shifts as quickly as sand under a relentless wave, what felt ridiculous once became less so. Steve signed it off and designed a modified sister app _Breaking & Sending_, and Bucky – determined to prove a point – jumped at the first order that came in.

“Guy didn’t think we’d do it,” Bucky reported afterward. “But he’s impressed we did.”

“Gave us four stars,” Natasha said, looking at her laptop. “Not bad for a start.”

“It’s a novelty,” Steve said. “A stunt, for kicks. It’s not going to go anywhere.”

“So you don’t mind if I up our prices by 50%?” Natasha said. “It _is_ a niche.”

“Fine,” Steve said.

That was almost six months ago. Even with the price hike, and two subsequent hikes after, they still get orders, and some days it pays better than the three other apps they still have up. It’s enough good business that Steve’s able to employ Sam and Clint full-time, and train freelancers Wanda and Pietro for when the workload is heavy (they had a peak period in the two weeks before and after Valentine’s).

Steve still believes that the app has a very finite lifespan. Another six months, tops.

Then again, Steve thought that as soon as their existence spread by word of mouth, competitors would spring up like mushrooms (they’ve tried, but nope) or there’d be enough of a public outcry to shut them down. But as it turns out, there _is_ a demand for the ability to break-up at a distance. And where there’s demand, there needs to be a supply.

Not that Steve would ever say that Bucky was right to his face.

+

“Oh, hey,” Natasha says one day, months after the memory of Stark’s Hampton house has faded into vagueness. “This is a first. One for the books.”

There are four of them in the front of the apartment that doubles as their office, Bucky being out on a run. Sam and Clint glance up from their laptops, but Natasha’s half-swiveled in her chair to look at Steve, who’s making coffee in the haphazard corner they’ve assigned the pantry. Steve’s phone, which is in his back pocket, pings with an incoming message.

Steve opens their BS work app, which lists out the order details at length. However, Steve is able to immediately hone in on what caught Natasha’s attention.

“Oh,” Steve says. “Tony Stark.”

“Hey I want that one.” Clint leans over in his chair for the printer, where Natasha is having the letter printed, but Steve side-steps him and collects it himself. Clint makes a face. “You calling boss’s dibs today?”

“I think it’s better that I take it,” Steve says. “He probably won’t remember me, but if he does, it could help make it easier.”

“Wait, we’ve broken up for Tony Stark before?” Clint says disbelief. “Why did no one tell me this?”

Sam huffs. “You know how we joke that you’re always _that_ close to being fired? This is why.”

“I’m discreet!” Clint exclaims.

“Never had a repeat recipient before,” Natasha says.

“Only a matter of time,” Sam says. “Actually I thought it’d happen sooner. Any interesting proposed locations?”

“There’s a few.” Steve finishes reading the order, moves on to the letter, and then goes through his contacts. He’s pretty sure he still has Ms. Potts’s number, so he can run it by her first and confirm that Stark’s in the city.

A couple of hours later, Steve finds himself signing in to the guest register at Stark Tower reception, and then shown to the private elevator that leads all the way to the penthouse.

Much like the visit to Stark’s Hampton mansion, Steve parses the details of Stark’s fancy building and fancier elevator through a filter, with his designer’s eye taking in the clean lines and choices of color and contrast. As uncomfortable as the work can be, it’s still work, and Steve’s made it clear to everyone (and himself) that while handling orders everyone needs to be as judgment-free as possible. It doesn’t matter that Natasha’s prices have narrowed down their customer base to those who can afford it (with exceptions at their discretion) and that they’ve had their fair share of celebrity encounters during the course of it. When it comes to the nitty gritty of relationships and hook-ups, people are still people.

In this case, the person is Tony Stark. Who has moved into an unfinished penthouse of his new building. At least, Steve assumes it’s unfinished as he steps onto the floor, because it’s far too minimalist compared to the Hampton house, even if the sunken lounge area looks cozy.

“ _Please wait by the elevator_ ,” a disembodied voice says.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Steve subtly tries to spot the security cameras, but is only able to pinpoint one old-fashioned glass eye at the far right corner, which is so obvious that is has to be a dummy. That’s interesting.

Again, Steve hears Stark before he sees him. Stark’s voice travels from a corridor to the left, “What’s going on now, Pep didn’t say anything about getting dressed so I’m not gonna—” Stark skids to halt when he sees Steve.

The job being what it is, and their customers being who they are, Steve’s had to start reading the society pages and gossip columns. To that end, he’s slightly better aware of Tony Stark as a public figure, immaculate and charming and in no less than thousand-dollar suits whenever he lets himself be seen (which is often). That said, two times out of two Steve’s seen Tony Stark in the flesh as a grease-lined, bare-armed, bare-footed man in too-tight stretch jeans, and looking like he’s been climbing monkey bars all morning.

“Hello, good day,” Steve says. “I’m from—”

“Wait, wait.” Stark snaps his fingers as he trots forward. “I know you, don’t I?”

Steve holds up his card.

Stark blanches. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I have a message for you.” Steve pulls the printout from his jacket. “ _Tony—_ ”

“Nope!” Stark shouts. “JARVIS, compose an email for me, would you?”

“ _Very good, sir_ ,” the disembodied voice says.

“Uh,” Steve says, looking up at what he hopes is one of those advanced Stark computers, “I really need to finish reading this first, if you don’t mind.”

“No, you may not,” Stark says. “He doesn’t get to break up with me. _I’m_ going to break up with him. JARVIS! Tell Doctor Douchebag that if he thinks he can wash his hands—”

Steve’s handled this kind of petulance, too, and resumes reading over Stark’s speech, going as loud as a drill sergeant and as quick as bullets: “ _Tony, this likely won’t come as a surprise to you, on multiple fronts. Supposed futurist that you are—_ ”

“Oh fuck you, Stephen,” Stark mutters.

“Excuse me,” Steve says sharply. Then he remembers, and grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” Stark says slowly, “is your name Stephen, too?”

“Steven. Steve, actually.”

“My condolences.”

“That’s okay, I have two more.”

As soon as Steve says it, he winces internally, but Stark merely double-takes a little and huffs under his breath.

“Okay,” Stark says, sounding still irritated but where said irritation is clearly not directed at Steve, “finish the damn message.”

Steve does. It’s an erudite but cool letter, and in some places more befitting a professional split than a relationship break-up. They do get messages like that sometimes, though this is the first where the recipient cannot stop rolling their eyes every other sentence of it.

“ _—sincerely, Stephen,”_ Steve finishes.

“Wow,” Stark says. “If I were generous, I’d give him points for not slapping the doctor MD etc. etc. at the end. But luckily for everyone, I’m _not_ generous. JARVIS!”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

“Block this afternoon. I’m composing a rebuttal. With _infographics._ ”

“ _Would that be a worthwhile use of your time, sir?_ ”

While Steve second-guesses if the voice really is a computer after all, Stark says, “You giving me sass, J?”

“ _”Tis by your hand, sir._ ”

“He’s not wrong, though,” Steve says. “He? JARVIS is a he?”

“Yeah, ‘he’ is fine,” Stark says. “Don’t _you_ give me sass either, or else you’ll lose your tip.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you,” Steve adds ‘again’ only in his head, “but you’re not the customer here.”

“Only if you’re not providing me a service, but you _are_.” Stark pats himself down, a frantic slap of his grease-stained palms over the pockets of his pants, before he frowns. “Give me your account deets, Venmo, whatever it is you use.”

Steve looks up. “JARVIS, could you call the elevator for me, please? Thank you.”

“Hey, no, no!” Stark flaps a hand in the air at him. “I have to thank you for saving me! I should never have gone out with someone who’s more finicky about his facial hair than I am. You have merely opened my eyes, and every good deed deserves a good turn. Don’t make me hack your app to pay you, Steve!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Would you really do that?”

The elevator door opens, and Stark stares at the ceiling in betrayal. “Come on, let me.”

“You can make a donation to—”

“If I give you something, _you_ can split it anywhere and to anyone you wish.” Stark’s followed Steve into the elevator, and Steve supposes having a semi-sentient AI in control of the building means that the man doesn’t have to worry about doors closing on him without his say so. “Or do you want me to like, I don’t know, promote your app? Word of mouth? I can do it.”

It’s an attempt to retain his dignity, which Steve should’ve noticed earlier. He softens.

“All right, I’ll take a tip,” Steve says.

Stark beams, an almost childish glee in the wideness of his grin, and Steve is abruptly aware how handsome he is. Not that Steve didn’t already know this, because he did, but the handsomeness of magazine covers isn’t the handsomeness of a messy-haired man who’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and making _gimme_ gestures with his fingers.

“My email.” Steve hands over his card. He adds, with what he hopes is the right amount of gentleness, “I am sorry for this. In general.”

“Don’t be. I was already trying to weasel out of our next dinner or whatever it is we’d planned, I don’t even remember anymore. I’m just pissed that he beat me to it.”

“I could delay the delivery notification,” Steve suggests. “If you want to send a message to him first.”

Stark’s mouth falls open. “You can do that? Yesssss good, do that, extra tip for you.”

“That’s not why I—”

“Hush.” Stark steps backward out of the elevator, away from Steve; the motion is confident, practiced and almost balletic. “Customer is always right. Delay the notification to, say, 6 tonight? That doable?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

The last thing Steve sees as the elevator doors close is Stark tossing him a thumbs-up.

Steve shakes his head, marveling that that went far differently from how he thought it would. Definitely a first in more ways than one.

+

It is perhaps understandable that Steve notices Stark a little more after that, be it in newspapers, social media and the occasional billboard – though that last is one is more often the brand name rather than the man himself. It’s a human curiosity, though Steve doesn’t go so far as to deliberately trawl around for information; he wouldn’t do that even if he _wasn’t_ running an app that requires a certain level of professionalism.

As it is, every so often Steve would be doing something innocuous such as buying groceries, and near the cashier there’d be a magazine with Stark on the cover – hair tousled, collar popped and both hands pointing dramatically at a nebulous something that’s just off-page. Steve would think to himself, _I’ve met that man_ ; and _he dates men and women_ , as opposed to just women that these headlines tend to go on about; and _he has a highly advanced AI that he banters with, as if that’s something normal_. He dated a man who once performed a high-profile procedure on the POTUS’s sister, and gave BS an absurdly generous tip that Steve split between the VA and Natasha’s old foster home.

It’s an odd collection of threaded thoughts to have in his head about a person who’s still effectively a stranger.

Of course, there have been other recipients far more ‘memorable’ than Stark. There are those who’ve thrown things at him, cursed at him, tried to sweet talk him, and sicced their really big dogs on him. (Again, research is key, so they can prepare contingencies.) Then there are those who had to be confronted in unusual locations – the time Steve had to dash across the airport to gate before they could board specifically stands out.

Stark’s really only unusual in that he’s the first of their repeat recipients (there will be others, Steve’s sure of it). Also, that he was easy to handle as a recipient both times.

The rest of the team do ask Steve about Stark, the way they usually chatter about interesting people they’ve encountered in the job, but are cheerfully unsurprised when Steve has little to say. He just doesn’t talk much about recipients they’ve had, or their paired customers. He doesn’t mind when the others do it, because they’re professional enough to not let anything they say leave the office, NDA or no, but Steve himself rarely joins in, beyond discussing general trends and as well as curveballs that they need to adjust their SOP for.

Their SOP definitely doesn’t have anything on a repeat recipient coming back in into their system _again_.

+

“Hat trick for the floor!” Natasha calls out.

Sam leans back in his ergonomic chair to peer at her curiously. “College lady or the CEO?”

“CEO,” Natasha says.

“Jesus,” Clint says, “wasn’t his last one two weeks ago or something?”

“Three and a half weeks,” Bucky says. He shrugs when various pairs of eyes turn to him. “I just finished last month’s report, it’s not difficult to remember, even if we are stripping them down to initials.”

“I’m taking the order,” Steve calls out.

“Aww man, really?” Clint says. “Just ‘cause he’s not changing it up doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.”

“Dude gets around, but so what?” Sam says.

“It’s not the getting around,” Clint says, “it’s the BS-enabled break-ups that are, shall we say, suggestive? Dumb kids with too much money and even more hormones, I get. But a guy at his age? Makes you wonder.”

“Can this wait until I leave the office?” Steve says. “Thanks.”

Clint says quickly, “Sorry, boss. Business is business.”

“Don’t you have an order to settle yourself?” Natasha says. “Or are you still doing ‘research’?”

While the others discuss the other active orders, Steve collects the message printout from Natasha. It’s a short one this time, with a woman’s name attached.

Per the order, Steve gears up and goes back to the Hamptons. A same day delivery is sensible, since there’s little prep work that needs to be done beforehand, other than a check of Stark’s current status (as known in public). Steve makes it an early evening visit, and gets the same parking spot he’d taken the last time he’d been here.

Steve keeps his mind blank. Hat trick or no, Stark personal matters remain all his own, save for this tiny slice that has been outsourced to Steve, and of which he will execute with all the expectation and professionalism that he hopes the app is known for.

At the gate, he rings the doorbell. Feeling inspired, he says into the nearby speaker, “Uh, JARVIS?”

“ _Yes, Mr. Rogers_ ,” comes the same voice.

Steve smiles, feeling pleased with himself. “May I come in to see Mr. Stark? I don’t have an appointment, sorry.”

“ _He’s in the garden, round the side_.” A computer he may be, but there’s shrewdness in his voice. The gate clicks open a few feet, just wide enough to let Steve in before closing back behind him.

“Thank you.” Steve follows the instructions, moving around the cars to the garden. The same Lotus is parked there, but there’s a somewhat rugged 4WD next to it, which doesn’t seem to fit in Tony’s general aesthetic. But what does Steve know, really?

In the well-tended garden tucked against the side of the house there is a long wooden pergola, stretched over a barbecue set at one end, and what appears to be a fully-stocked bar at the other. The barbecue is in use, with a man who is not Stark standing by it. He’s dressed in casual khakis and a polo shirt of a shocking orange color that should not look as flattering as it does.

“Who are you?” the man says. “Are you supposed to be here?”

Before Steve can show him his card, Stark appears through the open French windows that lead into the house. “JARVIS told me—oh,” Stark says, visibly surprised. No bare arms this time, but a tight dark t-shirt printed with an image of Toshiro Mifune wielding a sword the way that Stark’s friend is wielding his spatula. “You really are here. I thought J was messing with me.”

“How do you know this guy?” the man says.

“Rhodey, Steve; Steve, Rhodey.”

“That does not answer any of the questions I’ve just asked,” Rhodey says.

“BS linebacker dude, you remember, I mentioned him,” Stark says, making Steve start in surprise. “Did me a solid with the doctor of whose name we no longer speak?”

Rhodey scoffs. “That’s what you consider a ‘solid’ these days?”

“Exactly,” Steve says. “I get paid. Doesn’t count.”

“Nice to see you’re consistent,” Stark says primly. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”

“I have a message for you.” Steve pulls the letter out, but Stark still looks perplexed. “ _Dear Tony, please receive this knowing that it comes from the bottom of my heart. It never would have worked out between us. I’m sorry, Christine E._ ”

Stark blinks. “What.”

“Wait,” Rhodey says, “Christine? _Everhart_? Since when has that been going on?”

“Since never because there is nothing going on!” Stark exclaims.

Rhodey frowns. “Wasn’t she at that dinner we went to that other night—”

“Just that once.” Stark coughs into his fist. “If there were any goings on. Erm.”

Rhodey’s face speaks of years of friendship, intimacy and judgment. “She came to you for a quote, and you decided that that was the time—”

“I have poor impulse control! And you’re burning dinner.”

Steve makes it to the grill at the same time as Rhodey before any serious damage can be made. It appears that they’re making burgers, and the pair continue to bicker and wheedle at each other as they move effortlessly around and between Steve to stack the ingredients together on plates.

“You remember what happened the last time you hit up a journalist?” Rhodey says.

“You remember plenty for me, my dumpling,” Stark replies. “Steve, you hungry? There’s a medium-well one over here.”

“Oh, geez, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

Rhodey pins Steve with a steely gaze. “You come to a man’s house and break his heart, but won’t eat his burgers?”

“Break his heart ‘ _repeatedly_ ’,” Stark says.

Rhodey nods. “You break his heart _repeatedly_ —”

“Well-done is fine,” Steve says quickly. “Would it be possible to get that to-go?”

“Sure, got some bags here.” Stark detours to the side table to collect some. “Man, what is _up_ with Everhart that she decided to use your service?”

“Did she know about the others?” Rhodey says.

“We’re very strict about confidentiality,” Steve tells him, standing up a little straighter. “We have been hinted at in some in blind items, but there’s nothing—”

Stark shakes his head. “Relax, Steve. You haven’t leaked anything, I’ve had JARVIS keep track of that. Rhodey here is just concerned for my honor, because at least one of us has to be, I guess? And even if Christine found out I’d been dumped via the app before, she could’ve learned it through Doctor Steady Hands, and the worst thing she’d do with that info is spend some money to make fun of me for it.”

“You sure can pick ‘em,” Rhodey says.

“Yeah, well.” Stark shrugs, then turns a smile at Steve. “You must get really interesting requests, though. This one must not even register for you.”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Steve replies.

“Plenty of prank ones, I’d wager, though those would still be in the minority,” Stark says, which happens to be spot on. “The rest would be earnestly difficult, or deliberately meant to hurt, or because the person doing the break-up is just plain conflict-averse.”

“I _definitely_ cannot say,” Steve says.

“Oh! Or they’re forgetful,” Stark says thoughtfully.

“How can you forget to break-up with someone?” Rhodey says.

“I forgot to wear pants to a board meeting once, shit happens.” Stark puts the bag in Steve’s open hands. “Growing lad like you, need plenty of protein.”

“It’s unnecessary, but thank you.” Steve nods at Stark, then at Rhodey. “Have a good dinner.”

“For a second there I thought you were gonna salute him,” Stark says with a laugh. “Rhodey’s a colonel. Does he outrank you?”

Steve stiffens in surprise. “Oh. I, uh—”

“Why you gotta scare the guy like that,” Rhodey says. “Don’t mind Tony, he thinks ‘cos he spends time around the military that that gives him the ability to spot ‘em at ten paces.”

“I had you pegged as army,” Stark says matter-of-factly, as though he’s thought about Steve at all outside their brief meetings. It puts a strange flip in Steve’s stomach. “Could be marine?”

Rhodey shoves his shoulder at Stark playfully, though his eyes when they meet Steve’s are apologetic. “How about none of your business.”

“Army, actually.” Steve nods at Rhodey, grateful for the exit, though that’s unnecessary as well. “It was a while back.”

“See,” Stark says gleefully. “Okay fine, we’ve kept you long enough. Other people to visit, hearts to break, yeah?”

“Something like that.” Steve excuses himself and says he can show himself out, but Stark decides to walk him part of the way to the gate, chattering all the way about how it was Rhodey’s idea to have an outside dinner so he can be responsible for the grill while Tony’s task is to make sure they don’t disturb the neighbors.

When they’re nearing the gate, Steve says quickly, before he can second-guess himself: “I am sorry, by the way. About the…” He pats at his jacket pocket, where Stark knows the letter is.

Stark just shakes his head, his smile relaxed and easy. “Steve, please. If I needed an apology for every single bad idea one night stand I’ve had—”

“No, I mean that my service was used to mock you, as you called it.”

Stark starts a little. The light of early sunset sets streaks of orange across his brown hair, and in his dark eyes. Even in shoes – converse, today – he’s still shorter than Steve, though there’s a sense about him that he’s larger and grander than limits of the physical self. He _exudes_ , mostly when talking and gesturing wildly, but even so when quiet, as he is right now.

“Anything can be used as a weapon, right?” Stark says. “Doesn’t make it the thing’s fault.”

“I appreciate that, but still.” Steve tries a smile – a genuine one, and he hopes that it’s gentle instead of condescending. Stark smiles back, so it can’t be too bad. “Have a good evening.”

“You, too.” Stark hangs back while Steve leaves through the gate, and finds his way back to his bike. He perches on the seat for a few minutes to finish the delivery report and close the order, and packs the burger carefully into the holder so he can eat it back at the apartment.

+

Time marches on.

 _Breaking & Sending_ has its ups and downs. Sam and Bucky take more of the feetwork as Steve and Natasha try to grow the business. They hire another freelancer, Scott, who brings in plenty of new ideas to revitalize the various businesses. Wanda commits to becoming a full-time employee, while Pietro stays part-time as he continues his studies.

Their handyman app gains glorious traction for a few weeks, but is afterward solidly outcompeted by a rival service that has a massive marketing budget. Steve dismantles and sells off the components of their tutor-student-connection app when it gets reported for misuse, and they bat off a couple of inquiries from news outlets and bloggers asking for a quote on the low-level drama.

The business goes along well enough that Steve starts looking into the possibility of renting a proper office space for his team. For this part, Steve brings out his old sketchbooks in dreaming out layouts. It’s been a while since he’s designed anything the old-fashioned way instead of on a digital tool, and he needs to relearn the feel of it.

Tony Stark has a heart attack while driving, crashes his car, and nearly dies.

It’s all over the news for the first few days, and afterward goes further and further back into the pages of the dailies. Steve follows it regardless – Tony’s surgery, his move out to LA to recover, and the handing over of more of Stark Industries’ responsibilities to stalwart Pepper Potts.

Steve doesn’t have Tony’s number, but he does have Ms. Potts’. More than once he composes a message of well-wishes, but he deletes it every time because who is he to them, really? No one more memorable than a pizza delivery guy, or a taxi driver who picked them up once or twice. Such a message would be invasive at best, and highly discomfiting at worst.

All Steve can really lay claim on are the smaller and smaller nuggets of actually useful information to be gleaned across various media channels, though these are tucked in between sensationalist reporting of Tony’s supposedly questionable inheritance of the Stark business from his father, a legacy already made dubious by his choice to scale back the weapons division that’s necessary to protect their country, and opting to deviate more and more resources into castle-in-the-sky experimental technologies.

Not all the articles are unkind. Some acknowledge the well-reaped benefits of SI’s education and venture capital programs. There’s even a longform retrospective by Christine Everhart that, though not exactly glowing, makes the effort explain context for his less glamorous and oft-overlooked accomplishments.

Steve wishes that he could’ve told Tony that he thinks that SI has done some cool things, and that his new direction with SI has promise, and that he hopes Tony will keep innovating and creating. Steve never had any practical chance to do that the few times they met, of course, and he doubts that it would make any difference to Tony himself, but still. Steve would’ve liked to do it, just because.

The months roll on, one after another.

+

One day in early November, Steve returns to the apartment office after a meeting with a potential vendor, and the first thing Natasha says to him is, “Finally! Didn’t you get my message? I’ve been holding this one for you.”

“Footwork?” Steve hangs up his jacket, confused. “Sam’s available.”

“Is what I said,” Sam says from his table.

“It’s for _Breaking_.” Natasha prints out the letter, and raises it over her head for Steve to collect and read, which he does.

“Oh,” Steve says quietly. “He’s back in New York.”

“Who is?” Sam says.

Scott, with unnerving timing, appears by Steve’s shoulder to peer at the printout. “Oh my god, we got an order for Tony Stark?”

“Stark? Again?” Sam says.

“Again?” Scott echoes. “We’ve had him before?”

Sam nods. “This makes it the third, I think.”

“Fourth,” Bucky says, which makes Scott’s mouth fall open around a shocked _four?_ “That guy really has the worst…” Bucky trails off. “Okay, yeah, uncool. He was in an accident or something, right?”

“Oh, right,” Scott says. “Maybe he hooked up with a nurse while he was recovering. I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, _or_ her, assuming they’re a her, of course—”

“I’m going back out,” Steve announces. The name on the order has him rattled, and he’d like to get out of the office as quickly as possible. “Nat, send me the—”

“Yep, got it,” Natasha says.

BS does make night deliveries, though these are rare and come with a premium price tag. It’s always Steve who makes these deliveries, since he doesn’t like making the others work after-hours or on weekends and holidays unless absolutely necessary (which has only happened once so far, when they had a server crash). He was always going to handle this order anyway.

Not that she’d said that they _had_ to send the message at night. Their customer, Pepper Potts, merely suggested a good opportunity to send it tonight, and she was willing to pay extra for it. But she’d also added that other times would be just as doable, seeing as that Tony would be at his Hamptons house for the rest of the week.

So it’s by Steve’s own choice that he’s back at Tony’s tall, stylish front gates in what feels like the blink of an eye. He’d tried his best to get here quickly, but now that he’s here, it’s hard to remember why he was in such a hurry. He’s the literal bearer of bad tidings, after all.

“Uh.” Steve hesitates. “JARVIS?”

“ _Yes, Mr. Rogers_ ,” JARVIS says. _“He’s in the dining room. I’ll let him you know you’re coming in._ ”

Steve’s been doing this job for over a year. If there are such people as experts in this strange new field, then he considers himself to be one of them. He’s tried to be kind and clear and concise to all of his recipients, and he should be able to do the same here. Even as he thinks this, he finds himself jumping a little when the front door opens.

There’s no one at the door, so that must be JARVIS. Steve steps inside. It’s warm in the house, and there’s a fancy fake fire lit up in the fireplace – not a screen playing footage of a traditional fire, but some kind of heating tech that Steve doesn’t recognize. There’s music playing, an acoustic guitar strumming just on the edge of hearing. The general lighting in the foyer and living room is minimal, drawing the eye off to left, where the better-lit dining area is located.

Tony is there. His hair’s shorter than the last time Steve saw him, buzzed almost close to the skull around his ears, but styled up top. He looks like he’s lost some weight, too, but there’s stronger definition in his arms and shoulders, evidence of working out.

Steve thought that JARVIS must have announced his coming in, but when Tony looks up and sees him, his face pales.

The words dry in Steve’s mouth. The gears of his brain start and stop, even as Steve registers the soft grey of Tony’s sweater, matched perfectly with his dark slacks. Steve is here for a job. He knows how to do this job. He _created_ this job.

“Fuck,” Tony says quietly. He turns away, a hand immediately covering his eyes. “Wait, just let me… Just give me a minute.”

There’s a setting at the dining table for two. It’s not ready yet, but the casserole dish and salad bowl are at the side, ready for distributing.

Most of Steve’s recipients get angry and aggressive. The more difficult ones are those who cry, though they tend to be rarer if only because a great deal of people are willful enough to not want to cry in front of a stranger. It’s bad enough that said stranger knows of their pain to begin with.

Tony sways a little towards the dining table. He gets a hand around a plate, his knuckles going white.

This snaps Steve out of it. The SOP commands muscle memory, and Steve immediately steps towards him, ready to intervene. But Tony sees it and lets go off the plate. He shoves his hands into his pockets and rolls his shoulders back.

“Okay,” Tony says. “I’m listening.”

Steve takes the letter out. It’s a short one. “ _Dear Tony, I hope that this will make you understand. I love you, and will always love you. Pepper._ ”

Tony barks a laugh; a loud, harsh sound that echoes in the expanse of his beautiful house. “I know, Pep. Thanks.” He looks up at Steve sharply, glaring through the bright sheen in his eyes. “Don’t you dare think badly of her. We broke up a few days ago. But I’m the one who couldn’t… I tried to pretend it didn’t happen, that everything was hunky dory. This is how she puts a stop to that. Because she’s a smart woman and knows that sometimes I need a smack upside the head.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. What can he say, really? Pepper Potts has been Tony’s PA for literal decades, and Steve’s read enough about her acumen in navigating a male-dominated industry to know that whenever this new step in their relationship was made, it cannot have been made lightly, no matter what Tony’s reputation may be. In fact, Steve understands it. Near-brushes with death can bring clarity, and a meaningful relationship can gain another level of meaning.

“You hungry?” Tony jerks his chin at the food, his appetite clearly gone.

“I’ll help you pack it up.” Steve takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. “Do you have containers?”

“Kitchen, upper cabinet on the left. Can’t miss it.”

Before going to the kitchen, Steve pulls out a chair at the table and Tony sinks into it, almost absent-mindedly. Steve moves around quietly and efficiently, hunting down ladles and containers to store food for later. Tony will get hungry eventually.

As he works, he keeps an eye on Tony. He’s staring off at nothing for the most part, though every so often his brow knots together, as though confused.

When Steve’s done and all the food is packed away, he comes back to stand by Tony at the dining table. “Is there anyone I can call?”

“Rhodey’s out of the country,” Tony says.

Steve waits, but as Tony continues to not say anything else, slow-churning horror twists in Steve’s stomach. 

Are Rhodey and Pepper all that Tony has? Thanks to Steve’s reading he knows that Tony doesn’t have any immediate family, but surely there must be – there _has_ to be – Tony’s social circles are so vast –

Steve’s brain helpfully throws an image at him, of Tony recovering from a heart attack and car accident all by himself in some huge LA mansion. Oh, he can afford carers and assistants, but that’s not the same thing. Steve forcibly tries to steer his thoughts toward open-minded pastures, in that not everyone needs a lot of people in their lives, and even small support networks can accomplish a great deal. But those thoughts don’t square with the reality right in front of him: Tony does not seem at all content or comforted by the grand, empty space around him.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Tony says, as though realizing that the silence is his to fill. “I’ve got JARVIS.”

A friend that Tony made for himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tony continues. “You don’t have to – I am aware, okay. I’m comfortable, I’m loaded.” He opens his hands out, gesturing the house. “I don’t get to be sad.”

Steve grabs a free chair and sits, facing Tony, before he realizes what he’s doing. “Of course you get to be sad. Everyone does. Even the most contented person in the world, with the warmest family and fondest friends and most secure life you can imagine – they get to be sad, too. No one needs permission to feel that way.”

Tony swallows jerkily. There’s desperation in how he turns his eyes to the floor, as though wanting to believe it but not being able to.

“Emotions are important,” Steve says. “I’d think it’d be scarier if you didn’t feel anything at all.”

“Neater, though,” Tony says with forced lightness. “How do you do it?”

“What?”

“This thing you do, this work. I mean, sure, I’m the most pathetic customer you’ve had—”

“Don’t say that,” Steve says sharply.

“I am, though,” Tony says, with a matter-of-factness that sends a chill up Steve’s spine. “Anyone else got broken up with four times through you guys? See. Don’t mince it, I know what I’m about.”

“People break up for all sorts of reasons.” Steve clasps his hands, discomfited. “I try to – I hope I’m not a sociopath for doing this—”

“What? Geez, no, that’s not what I meant. It’s a business, right? And believe me, I know about businesses that take you to uncomfortable places. And you – you seem nice? For the work, I mean. Non-threatening, non-judgy, keeping everything confidential. Yes, you’re literally dumping people, but that also means that you’ve put yourself as a shield between the dumper and dumpee. That cannot be easy. People must’ve tried to take a swing at you.”

“Oh, that’s fine, most of the time it’s because _they’re_ hurting and lash out.”

“That’s ‘fine,” Tony echoes disbelievingly.

“It _is_ ,” Steve insists. “You asked how I do it? Because although 9 times out of 10 it’s awkward and scary and I need to run like hell, that remaining one time we’re helping someone make a clean escape that they can’t do otherwise.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, that makes sense.” Tony nods slowly. “Those must be scary for other reasons.”

“Definitely.” Steve sighs. “This service wasn’t my idea. Honestly, I didn’t even think it would take off, and that it would be mostly assholes paying us to do what they don’t have the guts to do themselves. But actual people and actual relationships are so much more complicated.”

“So it hasn’t made you cynical?”

“Appreciative, instead of cynical, I think. That we can never really know the depths of what other people are going through.”

A corner of Tony’s mouth pulls upwards. A smile slowly follows – a melancholy one, but a smile all the same. “You really are a good person.”

“Sometimes,” Steve says, which has Tony huffing in amusement. “It’s very okay to feel sorry for yourself. The only problem is when that gets excessive.”

“Excessive,” Tony mutters. “What does that even mean?”

“I apologize if I’m overstepping, but my personal opinion is that feeling sorry for yourself is good for acknowledging your pain, but eventually this has to lead to something. It could be healing, or channeling your energy into new projects, or trying to improve yourself as a person so not to make the same mistake. Just wallowing won’t help anyone, especially yourself.” Steve adds quickly, “In my opinion. I’m not a therapist, I can’t give proper advice—”

“Relax, I’m not gonna sue you.”

“I do have some telephone numbers, we keep a list, if you want—”

“I _will_ sue you if you finish that sentence.”

Steve closes his mouth politely. He realizes, belatedly, that he shouldn’t have sat down or run off his mouth at all. That said, Tony’s looking slightly better now – still morose, but in a way that suggests that he’ll binge on food for the next few days rather than do something ill-advised – and for that alone Steve can’t feel any regret.

Since he’s already come this far, Steve says, “By the way, uh, I’m glad that you – after the heart attack – that you’re all right.”

“Oh that,” Tony says dismissively. “Ages ago.”

“Not really.”

“Only in internet time, I guess. Could show you the bypass scars, but they’re not very attractive. Thought about getting tattoos over it, but more needles, so soon? Ugh.”

Steve doesn’t even blink at the bluster. “I’m very glad you’re okay.”

Tony bobs his head, almost self-consciously. “Thanks,” he says under his breath.

This seems a good enough place to leave it. Steve stands up, and Tony stands up with him, and Steve girds his loins for what he so badly wants to say next.

“Please feel free to turn this down,” Steve says, “but if you’d like a hug right now, I’d give you one.”

Tony tenses up, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Steve nods and backs away, but Tony shakes his head rapidly. Tony’s hands flex, fingers opening and closing in turn, as though he cannot decide. Or perhaps that he _has_ decided, but doesn’t know if he should.

“Can you just…” Tony fumbles. “I know, it’s weird but I, uh…”

Steve hopes he’s reading this right. He approaches slowly, telegraphing every movement, and once close enough puts his arms around Tony. He uses just enough pressure to be firm but not overwhelming. Tony doesn’t relax, precisely, but he does close his eyes and exhale, and his head bobs forward a little as though threatening to fall onto Steve’s shoulder.

The muscle Steve saw at a distance proves itself just as solid up close. Tony’s chest expands and contracts as he breathes – once, twice, a handful of times more – before he nods and shuffles a little, a signal for Steve to let go. Steve does, and averts his gaze when Tony presses both palms to his eyes.

“How much does a hug cost?” Tony says, clearly teasing though his voice is congested.

“On the house,” Steve says.

Tony’s smiling weakly when he drops his hands away. “You keep doing that, and customers are gonna be walking all over you.”

“I think we can manage.”

Tony exhales slowly. “I’ll be okay. I’m gonna see if I can call Rhodey, time difference be damned.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll show myself out.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be sorry for that,” Steve says firmly. “Get your phone, sit down, make that call.”

Tony nods. His face clears, as though relieved to have something to focus on. “Right. Yes, right.” He wanders off, almost dreamily, and JARVIS helpfully chimes in with directions to where Tony left his cellphone.

Steve leaves Tony’s house being very aware that he’d crossed some lines he’d explicitly put into _Breaking & Sending_’s SOP, but if anyone can nudge the rules, it’s definitely the boss. Besides, Tony’s very much an unusual recipient, and thus needed unusual handling. Even so, Steve’s reasonably confident that he wasn’t too forceful or inappropriate; it’s not like he has illusions that he’s an actual friend to Tony, as opposed to someone who’s only had brief, scattered glimpses of him during emotionally-delicate moments.

And if Steve hopes that Tony will be okay, and will get through this stretch of recovery for his symbolic heart after dealing with the drama of his physical one, that’s not inappropriate either. Steve often wishes many of their recipients well for the future. There’s nothing untoward there.

+

While the rest of the team handle the daily operations, Steve and Natasha are in their secondary workplace location, i.e. the coffee shop down the street where they can have semi-private conversation at a corner table. They do this every other month to review the business, or make major decisions out of the rest of the crew’s earshot.

“What do you think about removing the free-form option?” Steve says. “Clint’s been complaining about the free-form. Bucky, too, and I agree it’s taking way too many work hours to get through them. How about we review all the free-form requests we’ve had so far and take the, say, top 20 and plug those in.”

“I think we should still be open to free-form, but make it call-in,” Natasha says.

“Accessibility,” Steve says.

“Email, then. A slightly higher barrier, but not closing it off entirely. We still get some requests that are really useful.”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “All right, let’s try that, then. How about we announce the change say, next week? And implement it week after that?”

“I’m taking that next-next week off,” Natasha says. “In case you forgot.”

“Oh.” Steve flushes. “Right, yes, I did, sorry. Still making the drive up to see Yelena?”

“That’s the plan right now.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Unless she comes up with another last-minute scheme, which is not out of the realm of possibility. That also reminds me—”

“Nat.”

“—you know _who_ hasn’t taken any time off since we launched? Guess. You’ll never guess. And you’d definitely never guess that this same person also works nights and weekends willy-nilly, and put his share of our first bonus _back_ into capital.”

“I know it looks as though we’re stable, but it’s a vicious world out there—”

“Exactly why you need to sometimes stop and take a breath.” Natasha smiles sweetly at Steve’s half-hearted glare. “I know you feel like you’re still running a strike team – _go go go_! But we’re doing okay. And you know that when _Bucky_ has a better social life than you, there’s a problem.”

“You don’t know what Buck was like before,” Steve says petulantly. “He’s just… slowly returning to form.”

“U-huh. You sure it’s not BS getting to you? All those broken hearts, making you wary?”

“I still sign your salary checks, Romanoff.”

“Your threats used to be way more effective.” Natasha sits back in her chair, seeming to surrender but not really. She gears up to continue, but the focus of her eyes shifts suddenly to something just beyond Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, hey.”

Steve turns, following her line of sight. There’s a TV installed on the far wall, which is currently airing the news though the audio is switched off. Two familiar figures are standing at a podium, and the blurb declares that this is a live press conference where they’ve just announced that Tony Stark has handed over the role of CEO of Stark Industries to Pepper Potts.

There’s been little of Tony in the news since the last time Steve saw him a few months ago, and he’d decided to take that as a good thing. This is the first Steve’s seen him, and he drinks it in: Tony looking handsome and sharp, and perfectly in control as he addresses the reporters. It’s easy enough to read his lips: _no one more capable, but I doubt I have to tell any of you that_.

Tony turns to Pepper, a small nod that signals her turn to take the mic. Tony’s smile is news-perfect, but his eyes turn from cool to warm as he looks at her, before disappearing entirely behind his dark shades. Pepper smiles back at Tony, before stepping forward for her speech, clearly pleased and determined to take her new role to its fullest.

Tony seems to be in good health. He and Pepper have been able to keep working together, and they’re still good friends. Steve realizes that he’s smiling, too.

“He that short in real life?” Natasha says. Steve turns to her, an eyebrow raised. Natasha sighs and says, “Do you think he’s that short in real life, not that you or I could ever have any reason to know that for sure?”

“Still taller than you,” Steve says.

“I’m pocket-sized, like a convenient knife.”

“Oh is that how you’ve managed to stab me so many times?” Steve settles back in his chair. “Let’s move on, yeah?”

Natasha agrees and they get back into the discussion with alacrity, though Steve mentally jots down a reminder to read a proper news article on the SI handover later, so he can catch up on what’s going on.

+

The format of BS’s orders requires their customers to specify a place and time for the delivery of their messages. It’s best that the customers give them a few options, and if all the suggested options are difficult, Natasha will contact them to get more context and/or charge a hazard premium. BS’s team reserves the right to turn down orders, though in effect that’s only happened less than five times since the app launched.

If Steve were slightly pickier, he would’ve turned down a great deal more orders. Possibly dozens, or even hundreds. But they’ve been able to stay ahead of their competition despite their prices _because_ their conditions are less stringent.

For example, Steve really dislikes orders that ask them to deliver their messages in a public space. Risk of the recipient’s public humiliation is explicitly against their terms of service, but sometimes the customer has no idea (supposedly) where their recipient will be save for public or semi-public events that they’re known to be attending.

This allowance in their TOS is why Steve is now dressed up in the cheap dark blue suit they bought specifically for these occasions, and is handing over an invitation (procured by the customer) to enter a party. It’s not a private party, thank goodness, but a launch party in a hotel exhibition center for some highly exclusive timepieces embedded with crystallized pieces of a Napoleonic battleship or something else equally ridiculous. Steve need only be here long enough to make the soft drop.

Here’s the twist. Steve’s holding a glass of something he has no intention of drinking, and scanning the room for his recipient. He’s in mission-mode, focused and braced to jump, and is (as per Sam’s description) exuding an intense aura of Do Not Disturb that makes people generally avoid him.

Then, across the room, he sees Tony Stark.

Steve’s brain goes blank. Then it reboots, but only in order to notice that this is Tony Stark as he’s known to the world (or actually is?), i.e. coiffed and pressed in a cream suit and dark tie, and casually disinterested in the luxury all around him. Tony’s sipping from a long-stemmed glass as if that’s the only thing keeping him awake.

Steve doesn’t know this man. This is Mr. Stark, former SI CEO, who actually _is_ a stranger. Steve needs to take evasive maneuvers, stat.

But in the half-second between realizing what he needs to do and actually doing it, Tony sees him.

Tony’s eyes widen, panicked.

Steve’s breath catches and he finally turns away. He starts walking through the throng of bodies, not heading to anywhere in particular other than _not_ there. He recalls that there was another display area in the other room, that would probably be enough.

Except an arm loops into his, slowing his steps. Tony’s right there, looking up at him, and the panic that had been in his eyes – that awful, _instantaneous_ panic and fear at the sight of Steve – has gone and is replaced with excited curiosity.

“You’re not here for me,” Tony says, keeping his voice low. “Right? You can’t be, there hasn’t been—who are you here for?”

“Um.” Steve tries to disentangle himself, but gives up when he realizes that that would make a scene and ruin the delivery. The fact that Tony Stark’s tucked up close against his side and talking to him probably gives him way more cred to be here than he would have otherwise. “I really can’t say.”

“I can help you. Who is it? Who is—”

Steve makes another mistake, this one due to his mission rhythm being completely shot. He hears a voice – one specific voice that he’d researched beforehand for easier identification in a crowd, and that research obviously paid off in that he immediately identifies it now – and turns towards the source. Unfortunately, this means Tony sees his recipient, too.

“Oh my god,” Tony breathes.

Steve grimaces. “Please, Tony, don’t—”

“I’m cool, I can be cool,” Tony says airily. “As so happens, he’s a friend. No, that’s a heinous lie, he’s an acquaintance. I can get him alone for you if you want? It’ll be easier.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“And I know that they’re gonna start the show in ten minutes and everyone’ll be packed together so—”

“Tony,” Steve says sternly.

“Fine, fine. You should probably get him now, though.” Tony slips his arm out of Steve’s and nudges him. “Quick, there, towards the men’s room.”

Tony melts away from his side, and Steve rushes forward – not aggressively, but in a slightly more urgent spring of step – to where Justin Hammer is explaining to the server how he likes his ice in his drinks.

“Mr. Hammer,” Steve says. “If I could have five minutes of your time, this’ll be quick.”

“God,” Hammer says, looking him up and down, “are they letting any riff-raff in these days? Where’d you get that suit, Sears?”

Steve feels himself settle. This is familiar, and he knows how to manage it as easily as he knows how to tie his shoelaces. He puts on the face – polite and guileless and professional – and takes out his card, with the folded letter tucked behind it. Steve keeps his voice low as he goes into the introductory spiel, measuring Hammer’s response the entire time. It becomes clear that moving Hammer to a quieter location would be difficult, so Steve goes right into reading the message.

It’s a short one. _Wham, bam, bye._

“Security!” Hammer bellows. “Get this man out of here, he’s not a guest!”

Steve, luckily, doesn’t need the warning. He’s tensed his calves the moment Hammer started to turn red, and walks away before Hammer’s finished yelling.

“Him!” Hammer yells at his back. “Toss him out!”

Steve speeds up, as fast as he can without outright running. He’s got his exit planned, though limitations of the hotel layout means that he still has to go through reception, and he’d really prefer not to be manhandled out through the front doors.

He hears Tony’s voice, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. He turns towards it and sees Tony over at the far wall, waving him over. _This way_! he mouths.

Steve goes, and follows as Tony steps through a service door that transfers them from opulent ballroom to off-white hospitality corridor. Tony speeds up into a trot that Steve matches, though as far as Steve can hear, no one’s following them. That said, they’re still not supposed to be back here, so a smart jog is probably the best call.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Steve says.

“These places are all the same,” Tony says. “We’re on the second floor, so there should be – yep, here we go.”

It’s not that Steve was skeptical, but he’s still surprised when they make it out of the building, past staff and security that at the most look surprised and annoyed at them. The service entrance leads out to the drop-point of trucks and trolleys; Tony navigates this area easily, too, and only stops once they’re at the end of the block.

Tony may be in good shape, but the suit he’s wearing is pretty thick, and there’s sweat around his collar. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Steve says. “That’s pretty mild, actually, in comparison.”

“Huh.” Tony tips his head back, squinting up at the late afternoon soon. It’s strange; he’s still dressed fancy but his face is looser, familiar. He smiles at Steve, and it is not a smile that makes it to the newspaper pages. “Well, I’m glad that worked out.”

“Thank you for the assist,” Steve says, with sincerity he hopes isn’t overbearing. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, you had it covered,” Tony says, face pinched. “I’m sorry I ruined your routine—”

“It’s not as strict as all that, honest.”

“—but it’s just, I saw a friendly face and didn’t think it through. I couldn’t _wait_ to get out of there.”

Steve’s about to ask which friendly face Tony’s referring to, when he realizes that’s _him_. Which is so confusing yet strangely pleasing that Steve covers it with a clumsy, “Yes, I saw exactly how excited you were to see me.”

Tony laughs, a light sound that’s free of bitterness. The knots in Steve’s chest unwinds – Tony looks _good_ , and seems to be doing so much better. Steve even almost says so, but manages to stop himself. That would be creepy, and Tony might misconstrue it as more than Steve’s concern for a fellow citizen, whom he just happened to see at a low point in his life.

“If you weren’t enjoying yourself, why didn’t you just leave?” Steve says.

“I was going to! The agreement is that I just needed to show my face for a bit – half an hour, tops. One of the chronograph designers, we need him for another project. Well, Pepper thinks we need him, I don’t really agree, but she’s the boss now so she gets to toss me out like a show pony whenever she wants.”

“Insert one Tony Stark, get a contract?”

Tony laughs. “Pep was always better at the business side anyway, and I’ve always wanted to be more involved in research and development, but the name’s still important so I let her play it whenever she needs to. Best solution for everyone, really.” Tony starts suddenly. “Oh, shit, sorry, you’re working. You need to go, yeah? I’m gonna call my driver, we can give you a lift.”

“No. I mean, I’m not working right now.” It isn’t _entirely_ untrue. He can take a few extra minutes if he wants. “I’ve already made that delivery. We could get coffee or something?”

Tony nods, still smiling. “Cool, yeah, I’m game. As it so happens, I had my eye on that café over there and was gonna hightail it as soon as you abandoned me.”

“Wow, harsh words.” Steve falls into step next to Tony, who leads the way down the street. “So, the R&D thing, is related to the higher education programs you just launched, right?”

“Uh-oh,” Tony says with a laugh. “I see that the range of topics I can bullshit to you has drastically narrowed.”

“Oh, no, you can still bullshit all you like. I’ll just criticize you relentlessly inside my head.”

“Only inside? Pity.”

At the café, they get window seats and drinks – a straight black for Steve, and chamomile tea for Tony (“Gotta restrict the caffeine for the ol’ ticker,” Tony explains. “Save it for when I _really_ need it, you know?)

They talk about SI, their opinions on fancy chronographs, the General Theory of Relativity as it pertains to online telecommunications, and more. It’s strange but pleasant but strange, because there’s no work order keeping Steve here, and no letter in his jacket that’s weighing Steve down. There’s just Tony, who seems to be genuinely enjoying the conversation and, if Steve isn’t entirely imagining it, relaxing more and more as it goes along.

“I’m not saying that the grants aren’t useful,” Steve says. “But it’s a better fit for research institutions, universities.”

“You’re not even gonna give it a shot?” Tony says. “Get your boss on the phone, let me hard sell it.”

“I am the boss, and I say it doesn’t fit our overarching plan.”

Tony starts. “You’re the boss? You’re the boss and you’re running around doing the deed yourself?”

“We’re a small set-up,” Steve says. “Workload’s gotta go around.”

“But I thought you said the service wasn’t your idea?”

Did Steve say that? He has a vague memory of it, but the conversation thus far had avoided all mention of BS until this moment. He could’ve mentioned it the last time they saw each other, but that was months ago. “That’s right. My best friend came up with it. We got discharged around the same time, and I came into some money when a friend passed.”

“And your first idea was to make a break-up service?”

“As a matter of fact, no, it wasn’t. We had a few online venture ideas, threw ‘em at the wall and went with whatever stuck. I know, that was probably a really stupid risk, but I, uh…” Steve pauses, neck going warm. “I really wanted to make something work, so my friends would have jobs. If that meant going out myself and making sure the service would be done properly, then yeah, of course I’d do it.”

“Of course.” Tony’s eyes glitter with surprise and amusement and… fondness? No, it must be just surprised amusement. “You’re doing it for your friends. You’d take a thousand Justin Hammers yelling at you for that.”

Steve shrugs, self-conscious.

“You know,” Tony continues, “this whole time I thought BS was a one-man show? Or at least a one-footman-show. Otherwise why would it be you every single time?”

“Oh, that’s by choice,” Steve says, before he can stop himself. “Because, uh. I thought it might be easier for you. We have a way of assigning orders to everyone but we can change them around.”

“God,” Tony says, shaking his head. “You’re so _thoughtful_ , I can’t stand it.”

“It’s not really being thoughtful, just sensible. I try to put myself in the recipient’s shoes.”

“You’d rather that a stranger read a letter to you than getting a stock-card speech send-off?”

“Yes, actually.” The ground’s getting mighty shaky under Steve’s feet, but Tony’s face is so open and enthralled, that he has to keep going. “I had a sweetheart, a long time ago. I thought it was gonna go somewhere but it didn’t and I don’t blame her for any of it, but I wish that I _had_ received a letter from her, instead of finding out through someone—” He swallows. “Sorry.”

Sympathy softens Tony’s features. “Don’t be, that does suck.”

“Yeah. So I try to remember that feeling, every time I do what I do.”

A buzz at Tony’s watch splits the cloud hanging over their table. Tony sits up and checks his phone. “Hey, I gotta go. You sure you don’t need that lift?”

“I’m sure, I’m just across the river. Thank you.”

“All right.” They stand, and Tony pats at his pockets to put everything back to order. “Anyway, yeah, it’s nice to see you for non- _work_ reasons.”

“Hah.” Steve starts to offer his hand for a shake, but Tony moves at the same time, his hand coming up to squeeze Steve’s elbow.

Tony’s palm is warm, even through the sleeves of both suit and shirt underneath. A tingle follows that touch, traveling like lightning up Steve’s arm to the top of his spine, where it warms his neck. All of this is utterly unexpected and distracting, and short-circuits enough of Steve’s brain functions that he doesn’t do much more than say, “Bye,” as Tony wishes him good-luck with the rest of his venture, and leaves.

Steve’s still standing as Tony disappears through the doors. When he remembers himself, he fumbles with his things – phone, receipt, money – though there’s no captive audience to make him self-conscious enough to fumble. There’s only his head, currently filled with cotton, and his heart, currently racing a mile a minute.

 _Stop_ , Steve tells himself. _Stop it. Don’t be creepy._

+

Tony’s attractive, of course; Steve can see that clearly enough. Tony’s also brilliant and luminous and hilariously scathing, and if they met any other way, Steve might even… well.

But they _didn’t_ meet any other way. They met because Steve had to deliver bad news to him, again and again and again. They met thanks to the coolness of monetary transactions, and there’s a reason that whoever handles deliveries needs to stay at an emotional remove from their recipients, no matter how difficult or sympathetic that delivery may be.

Steve’s tried to be kind, but is he, really? Is it kind to be drawn to a man because of how he behaves when he’s emotionally vulnerable? Tony has no choice in who got to see him during those moments, and it just happened to be Steve. They’re not friends, and it’s ghoulish for Steve to feel anything more for the man than sympathy he’d extend to a fellow human being.

It harms no one if Steve keeps track of Tony and his work through the media. There’s a great deal more harm if he projects anything more onto Tony than that.

Luckily, the turmoil in Steve that followed their serendipitous encounter at the hotel will pass. They may share a city most of the time, but the chances of it happening again are tiny, and made tinier when Steve decides to focus on developing one of their other apps and lets the rest of the team handle more of BS’s footwork.

Anything that Steve feels for Tony – and it’s definitely nothing more substantial than the tiniest flame – will be extinguished in time soon enough.

+

Another month, another meeting in the coffee shop. He and Natasha have been at it since breakfast, and Steve really wants to finish up before the lunch crowd starts coming in. Their discussions have gone long before, and it’s no surprise it’s doing so today when there’s been a couple of headaches piling up over the past weeks.

It’s getting to the point where even Natasha is getting tetchy, so when she announces, “Ladies room!” and stands up, Steve lets her go without comment.

While Natasha’s away, Steve pulls up another spreadsheet and pores through it. His eye catches on the half-finished plate next to his table, reminding him that he needs to order something else so they can keep the table. But it’s that kind of morning where even the prospect of browsing the menu is exhausting.

Right then a voice says, “Did that menu insult your mother or what?”

Steve jumps. It’s a reasonable response to being surprised, and there is nothing at all in the motion that would betray how warmth floods up his chest at the living, lively sound of Tony Stark speaking to him.

“Too many decisions,” Steve says.

Tony, dressed down in jeans and dark cotton shirt that shows off the full curves of his biceps, slides into Natasha’s side of the booth. He plucks the menu from Steve’s side of the table and flips it open. With a free hand, he pushes the shades he’s wearing up to the top of his head, and there are his beautiful animated eyes being beautiful and animated.

“Brunch.” Tony peers at the plate already on the table. “You had something sweet, so next should be something savory. Are you working? Should I scram?”

“We’re taking a break. My colleague is, uh—” Steve takes a quick look around, but Natasha must still be in the bathroom. “Somewhere.”

“You better hide your company secrets, then.” Tony makes a show of trying to read Steve’s tablet upside down, and Steve gamely puts his hand over the screen. Natasha’s locked her tablet, but Tony taps the casing curiously. “You built this yourself?”

“Not me, personally. Natasha takes care of most of our gear, and yes, she built hers, mine and most of what’s in the office. There are some SI components in there, but only some.”

“Eh, that’s what it’s for.” Tony seems cheerful enough, though his smile fades a little at whatever he sees on Steve’s face. “Ah, okay. I’ll get my own table, you enjoy your—”

“No, you just surprised me, that’s all,” Steve says quickly. “We’ve been rough ‘n tumbling all morning, it’s hard to switch tracks.” He tries to relax, even as he notes that Tony’s changed the shape of his goatee a little, shaving closer to his chin though there’s still a faint trail of hair leading up from the cleft to his full bottom lip. “I get a feeling that’s not so much a problem for you.”

“Thank you, I _am_ flexible, glad you noticed.”

“You should try the pies.” Steve nods at the menu that’s still held loosely in Tony’s hands. “They’re pretty good.”

“Noted, much appreciated.” Tony tilts his head as he scrutinizes the listings. It stretches one side of his neck, the corded muscle drawing tight. Steve presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, and tries not to think about what that muscle would taste like under his lips.

“You happened to be in this part of the city?” Steve says.

“Oh, yeah, someone recommended this place…” Tony frowns, thinking. “Someone? Something I read somewhere? I don’t remember. But then I come in and hey, there you are. Your office must be around here?”

“Just around the block. I’d show you around, but then you’d have to take me to your Tower as trade-off, and I just don’t think I can block my schedule any time soon.”

Tony’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. “Busy man, I respect that.” He perks up suddenly at something over Steve’s shoulder. “Oops, there’s my date. Anyway, sorry for crashing by, I hope the rest of your meeting goes well. It’s nice to see you again. You said to try the pies, right?”

Steve murmurs what he hopes is a friendly response as Tony leaves the table, though mostly he’s busy thinking: _date?_

Sure enough, Tony makes his way towards the coffee shop entrance, where Rhodey has just entered. Steve should turn away, but he doesn’t do so quick enough – Tony points Steve out to Rhodey, who sees him and waves. The pair then find their own table elsewhere, and the conversation is lively and warm before they even properly take their seats.

Well, that’s a stab right in the chest, isn’t it? Good going. This is what happens when one projects onto other people who have done absolutely nothing to warrant or encourage it. If Steve were a better person he’d immediately be happy that Tony’s trying again, opening his heart in a new way to the other important person in his life. Tony seems to have so much to give, and it makes perfect sense that he’d try with Rhodey, who knows him so well. All those years of friendship get to coalesce and evolve into something new.

Steve turns back to his tablet, but finds it difficult to resume reading. The letters blur and dance over each other despite his resolve. How _dare_ he feel like shit over this? What the hell is wrong with him.

There’s a rustle as Natasha returns to her seat. “What did I miss?” she says.

“Nothing much. I just, uh…” Steve tries again to read the spreadsheet in front of him. His concentration refuses to cooperate; where he should be studying numbers, he can instead hear the mildest echoes of Tony’s voice, traveling across and through the cacophony of the room. “Where were we? We were looking at the finances, right?”

“Or we can take a break,” Natasha says. Steve looks at her sharply, but she shrugs. “Get lunch somewhere else, come back in a few hours with a fresh mind?”

“Pretty sure some of these things are urgent.”

“Pretty sure we make terrible decisions when we’re stressed.”

Steve can’t disagree with that. “Okay, I’ll head back to the office—”

“No, you take a walk, get rice pilaf for the whole team. Wanda’s been having a hankering. I’ll clear the PO box, do some errands.”

Actually a walk does sound nice. “All right, that’s a plan. See you at the office in a half-hour, thereabouts?”

They clear up their table, settle their check and get ready to leave. Throughout, Steve does his best not to look in Tony and Rhodey’s direction, but he fails, and is gifted with the sight of Tony in exuberant conversation, enjoying Rhodey’s company with full freedom and ease.

+

Steve refused to do any deep dives into Tony’s relationship history, but he is vaguely aware, the way one is of general popular culture, that Tony’s relationships were more high-profile when he was younger. Of the last four partners that Steve’s been made aware of thanks to BS – Hansen, Strange, Everhart and Potts – only Hansen made it into the news, but briefly, and only because they attended a few events together.

Due to all this, Steve doesn’t expect and isn’t surprised when there’s no mention of Tony and Rhodey in any of the society pages or gossip columns. That’s good, because they should be allowed to let their relationship develop away from public scrutiny and in their own terms. Steve honestly does wish them well, for his selfish disappointment has no bearing whatsoever on his wish that Tony find his happiness.

But through Steve’s hope is a thread of fear. He knows this fear is presumptuous, but he can no more control it than he can control his bemoaning the loss of something he never had in the first place. Though he hopes for better, his fear comes from the very reason that he met Tony in the first place.

A few weeks after that chance encounter with Tony and Rhodey, what Steve feared comes to pass.

They’re in the office, and Steve’s reading his emails when he hears Natasha call over: “Steve, _Breaking_ order in.”

Steve doesn’t think much of it, though there’s something in Natasha’s voice that lands a little strangely. He understands the reason for it when he takes out his phone to open the order, and sees Tony’s name on it.

He stares at the order for a long moment, all while his stomach feels like it’s dropping down to his feet. He opens the accompanying message next, and right there at the sign-off is the customer who’d sent it in: _James Rhodes_.

Steve closes the order, gets up, and goes to the bathroom for minute or so. When he comes back, his head is marginally cleared, and he says to Natasha, quite calmly in his opinion: “I’ll take that one, thanks.”

Natasha nods at him.

Steve goes through the order again, and more thoroughly. He can’t be angry, because he doesn’t know what happened between Tony and Rhodey. He can be sympathetic, but only to a point, because he can’t claim to be Tony’s friend by any measure of the term.

He only needs to perform the task and cause as little hurt as possible. That’s all he can hope for.

+

Rhodey’s order has a few options for delivery, arranged in order of preference. The one at the top is for tonight, when Tony will be at his tower. Steve decides to go with that option because he doesn’t need as much research, and the quicker the better.

The whole bike ride to Stark Tower, Steve swallows his dread. He keeps it tucked down, and only acknowledges it as far as it reminds him of how important it is that he handle this with as much tact as he can.

Reception lets him through, and once in the private penthouse elevator, Steve says, “JARVIS?”

“ _Good evening again, Mr. Rogers_ ,” JARVIS says.

“Tony alone tonight?” Steve’s not sure whether to be relieved when JARVIS answers in the affirmative. On one hand, it would be better for Tony not to have any sort of audience, but on the other hand, if Tony had friendly company, they would comfort him better than Steve ever could.

He reaches the penthouse floor, and the elevator door opens. Steve steps onto a floor that’s very different from the one visited almost a year ago. The sunken area has been furnished with more cushions and small tables, a dining area has been installed nearby, and there are screens almost everywhere one looks – tall ones airing the news and TV shows, smaller ones showing workprints and code. It seems like some fantastic combination of home and office and workshop all in one, though care has been made to incorporate the view of the city into the layout. It’s easy enough to imagine this as a physical representation of what it’s like to by inside Tony’s head. 

Tony is standing in the middle of the sunken area, a large bowl of popcorn in his hands. His hair’s messy, as if he just woke up, and he starts when he sees his guest. “Steve?”

Steve takes a breath and comes deeper into the penthouse, but not so deep as to encroach into Tony’s space. The card isn’t necessary, so he takes the letter out immediately, unfolding it carefully for reading.

“What are you doing here?” Tony’s heartbreakingly confused, and remains so as he pads over, barefoot once again. “Not that I mind, but…?”

Steve should just get into the letter, but he blurts out, “I’m really sorry about this.”

“About what?” Tony says, sounding baffled.

“ _Dear Tony_ ,” Steve reads. “ _I’ve tried my best, but this is the only option I could think of. Love you always, James Rhodes._ ”

“Rhodey? Give me that.” Tony grabs at the letter, which Steve gives over gladly. While Tony reads the short missive, Steve drinks in the details of his face in painful anticipation, unable to turn away even as he knows what’s going to happen when Tony understands.

“What a dick,” Tony says at last. “If he wanted to cancel movie night, he could’ve just said.”

Steve starts. “What?”

“A text message is way cheaper.” Tony trots over to the nearest table, where he arranges the printed message inside the popcorn bowl. He uses his cellphone to take a picture of it, changes his mind, and then takes another photo of the same but including his middle finger in the shot. Tony’s smiling as he sends the message. “There.”

“Wait,” Steve says slowly, “are you saying that you and James—”

“Together like that? No,” Tony says. “He’s just fucking with me. But you got paid for it, so win-win, yeah?”

“Oh.” Relief turns Steve’s muscles to jelly, and he exhales loudly. “Oh, okay, that’s…”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Tony turns his flawless smile Steve’s way, and Steve’s knees don’t get any sturdier. “God, you looked so worried I thought something awful happened.”

“It _would_ have been awful!” Steve exclaims. “Not that you and Rhodey are dating, that would’ve been great—”

“Hmm, you think?”

“Uh, well.” Steve clears is throat. “He is attractive, and seems very nice. Very gentlemanly.”

“Oh,” Tony says, sounding strange. “Your type?”

Steve mumbles, flustered and worried at saying the wrong thing. “I, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, he is your friend, even if he did make a prank order that got me, uh.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business. You just seemed to be doing well, and…”

“You care about that?” Tony says quietly.

“Yes, I care. Break-ups are hard enough, let alone when it’s someone you have such a long history with.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’ll never happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t have to send me a break-up message ever again,” Tony says. “A real one, anyway. Prank ones, like tonight’s? Yeah, maybe, if Rhodey or whoever else is feeling up for it, but there won’t be any more really _real_ ones, so you don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m done, pretty much.” Tony smiles, small and sheepish. “I’m not going to try anymore. I mean, I _can_ tell when the universe is giving me a big honkin’ sign. Four big honkin’ signs in a row, really. Like you said, I can pour all my energy into doing things and being useful. I’ve already kicked that off by taking on more development work while Pep handles management. And it’s been great.”

Tony’s being completely sincere. He also seems somewhat embarrassed, but that appears to come more from his having to admit this out loud to Steve, instead of it being something he concocted on the fly. The ‘great’ at the end seems equal parts truthful and wistful.

Horror slowly dawns on Steve. “You’re… done?”

“Some people just aren’t meant for relationships, and that’s okay,” Tony says. “Hook-ups and break-ups in a never-ending cycle just seems exhausting, and uh, I had that one shot at being serious, which obviously didn’t take, either. So it’s, yeah. I’m done, I don’t need that.”

“I did that,” Steve says distantly. “This service. I made you think you don’t deserve to be happy.”

“Oh shit, you’re upset. No, Steve, it’s fine, it makes sense, listen.” Tony’s eyes are large and placating. “Your service didn’t do anything, it’s just a tool for what _other_ people are gonna do anyway. And it helped me see a pattern, that’s all! A pattern that was always there, but I didn’t notice it until you.”

“I am scum of the earth,” Steve whispers.

“Steve, no, that’s not—”

“You are as deserving as _anyone else_ to find someone, if that’s what you want.”

“But it doesn’t matter what I want, that’s the point. We can wish and hope ‘til we turn blue; that doesn’t mean the universe is gonna bend over backwards to us. All we can do is try, and I _did_ try. That doesn’t mean I’m entitled to it.”

Steve swallows past his too-thick throat. Tony really seems to believe what he’s saying, and that is so much worse than what Steve feared he’d have to face tonight. This is the lesson that Tony’s learned, and Steve’s the one who planted the seed.

“I am so sorry,” Steve says wretchedly. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, but he doesn’t know how else to make it better. Maybe he can’t. Maybe his being here at all makes it worse, and just affirms the path of cause-and-effect that Tony’s concocted in his head. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“No, don’t be!” Tony exclaims. “It’s made everything so much clearer, I can _focus_.”

“I disagree.” Steve looks into Tony’s face, flushed with frustration and annoyance, and knows that he cannot stay here a minute longer. He backs up to the elevator, which is still waiting for him, the doors open. “I should go.”

He doesn’t add that he’ll make it up to Tony somehow, if that’s at all possible. He just can’t do it here and now, when Tony’s already made up his mind and Steve’s too busy being horrified by it.

“Steve, come on,” Tony says. “Don’t feel bad. It’s been really good for me.”

Another blunt disagreement wouldn’t be useful at all, so Steve doesn’t voice it. He leaves Tony standing alone in the middle of the floor of his penthouse, and turns away so doesn’t watch the elevator doors close.

+

Feeling bad helps no one. Steve spends the next few days doing some soul-searching, which leads to some actionable thinking, which leads to a brief, heated discussion with Natasha.

Steve has good points, and thus believes that despite Natasha’s initial protest, he will be able to win her over if he has a fully articulated plan, which he is determined to put together. It will probably take more time than he’s comfortable with, but he cracks his metaphorical knuckles and gets down to it, with the intention of notifying the rest of the team once it’s put together.

The day after he’s started putting his plan together (2 pages in the draft so far), Natasha accosts him at his work table and says, “Take a walk.”

Steve glances at the others, but Clint, Sam and Wanda are deep into arguing over their next code push, and Bucky is deep into his daily decimation of the cookie bowl. “I’m busy.”

“If you have to work on that, don’t do it in here,” Natasha says. “It’s ruining the vibe.”

“You’re exiling me?”

“Yes. I’m calling co-founder’s rights.” Natasha kicks at a stem of Steve’s chair, sending him rolling to the side a few inches. She adds, quieter, “You have that face. They’re going to notice.”

Steve admits that that’s likely to be true. “All right. I’ll… find a spot somewhere.”

“Not too far,” Natasha says. “So I can call you back in if there’s anything.”

Laptop in tow, Steve trudges out of the apartment office. Normally he’d go to their usual coffee shop, but unfortunately that location now brings with it a memory of _Tony_ , and that would wreak havoc on his already spotty concentration. He wanders, somewhat aimlessly but not too far, until he finds another coffee shop that’s not too busy.

There’s a prime window seat by the corner, and Steve takes that one. He orders a drink. Once his laptop is set up, he reopens his word processor and stares at where he left off. He sighs.

He types a little, deletes some, and types something else.

Someone sits down in the chair next to him. “So, hey,” Tony says.

Steve blinks owlishly. “What…?”

“Disclaimer, I’m not stalking you, someone named Romanoff told me you’d be here, so I’m here. Hi.” Tony grins nervously. “You gave me your card, I have your office’s general line. Pretty sure that doesn’t count as stalking?”

“What are you—” even through Steve’s surprise, he registers that Tony looks _amazing_ , black leather jacket over a dark red shirt that brings out the glow of his skin, while up top his hair is tousled soft and welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you really going to get rid of _Breaking & Sending_?” Tony’s almost vibrating in his seat; Steve can almost see the wiggly lines of urgency rising off of him. “Because you said it yourself, sure a lot of the orders you get are frivolous and stupid, but in between there are genuine cases that need help, and you _provide_ that, so you’d be taking it away—”

“Tony,” Steve sighs.

“I don’t want to be the reason you destroy your team’s hard work. I freaked you out, I apologize.”

“Why are _you_ apologizing? I’m the one who messed you up.”

“You didn’t mess anyone up. I already am, and you just made me realize—” Tony stops himself when he sees Steve’s face twist. “No, you’re looking at it the wrong way. Okay. All right. How about.” All at once he stops fidgeting, and is still and calm. “How about a systematic review of the service. When you launched it you didn’t know how it’d go, what problems you’d face. Phase one. Now that you’ve got the infrastructure in place and the experience work in – you streamline, cut the fat. Phase two.”

“BS’s flaws are built-in.”

“You think that, because you’re focused on one big flaw right now. But it’s useful – you _know_ it’s useful. And if you pull out now, there’s going to be a void, and others will come in. Your competitors that you yourself have complained about.”

“They’d have the tools we made,” Steve says. “My plan is to break up the service, sell its parts.”

“That’s even worse. You’re going to have to watch other people use your work and have no say in how they do it, and it’s going to drive you bonkers. I mean, look at you – you own the damn thing and yet you go out into the street yourself. You want that control, to make sure it’s done correctly. I know I’m right.”

The worst part – worse even than the wonderful vehemence with which Tony’s arguing his point – is that that point might have merit. The thought of other people using their systems gives Steve the willies, and he’d rather just delete everything they’ve made, but it’s only by selling some of it that the rest of his team won’t be hung out to dry for their work.

“It can be improved.” Tony holds Steve’s gaze, direct and daring. “Come at me. Let’s battle it out.”

“Logically, I could agree with you.” Steve swallows. He feels shaky all of a sudden, unnerved that Tony of all people would be defending a cruelty done to him. “But I’m not only made of logic.”

“Explain that to me.”

“I—I can’t.”

“ _Why not_?”

“Because now when I look at this goddamned app, all I can think about is how it hurt you.”

“I’m just one person,” Tony says, unflinching.

“Yes, all right, I do sympathize with all the others and manage to keep myself at a distance. But you – you’re not – the distance isn’t there anymore. I know more than I should, I know _you_ more than I should, and that means that the hurt’s not only yours anymore. It’s mine, too.” Steve pauses, face warm and breathing hard. “I think you’re great.”

It’s a simple, inadequate statement, yet it startles a smile of Tony. He flushes a little, too, as though trying to not to take too much out of the sincerity that Steve very much feels.

“So because I’m great, that means BS sucks?”

“It means that how BS affects _you_ , specifically, is more weighted to me. And BS is no good.”

“Not true. I mean. If it weren’t for the app, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Is that really such a great thing?”

“Yeah, actually.” Tony clears his throat. “It’s nice. You’re nice. Everything’s… nice.”

Steve stares at him. Tony tries to match his gaze but doesn’t quite manage it. He looks at the top of Steve’s laptop instead, as though studying the hardware.

An idea slowly and tentatively crackles its way through Steve’s brain, to the forefront of his consciousness. He tries to take in the details in front of him, but _properly_ : Tony’s being here, his genuine upset over Steve, and his anxiousness that now has his shoulders rising up tightly.

Steve doesn’t _decide_ to do it. His brain merely short-circuits between want and wisdom, and he leans across the space between them and presses his mouth to Tony’s.

Soft lips, just as Steve thought they would be. He hears Tony’s sharp intake of breath and his eyes snap open, horrified. He hurriedly moves to pull away, but is stopped when Tony fists the front of Steve’s shirt, holding him in place. Surprise and joy floods Steve, filling him with warmth and guiding him to settle his mouth tenderly against Tony’s.

The kiss lingers through a few more heartbeats, though it stays light and gentle. When they part and Steve sits back in his own chair, Tony very smoothly scoots over with his own chair so that their knees brush up against each other. Tony’s eyes are intense and very, very alert.

“I like you, Tony,” Steve confesses.

“Cool, yeah, I got that,” Tony says. “What about the app?”

“You still want to talk about that?” Steve says in disbelief.

“It’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it? I mean, of course, yes, the other reason is that I wanted to see you again and since you _still_ haven’t asked for my number there were not-so-great odds of that happening if you shut down the app. Don’t get me wrong,” Tony adds quickly, when Steve’s mouth falls open, “I really _am_ concerned for your business, and your team. But, yeah, there was also that marginally, teeny tiny selfish aspect to it, too.”

“You wanted me to ask for your number?”

“I can’t exactly ask for yours! It’s literally your job to be nice to people, Steve. How am I supposed to know if I was imagining…” Tony waves his hand in the air.

“But… you said you weren’t going to try anymore.”

“Also true. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping for something else. _Someone_ else.”

“And that’s enough to change your mind?”

“Yeah,” Tony says bluntly, as if it really is that simple. Steve’s chest clenches. “Call it weak principles, I don’t care. Just, uh. If it doesn’t work out, could you – could _not_ use the…”

Steve has to turn away for a second to compose himself. He only knows a tiny fraction of Tony’s dating history, and it seems absurd that he’d think Steve worthwhile after all of that. But Steve has to step up. He must.

“If it doesn’t work,” Steve says, “I hope that we’ll talk it out, just the two of us and no one else. And I hope that I can still be your friend, after.”

“How can you say that? You barely know me.”

“You barely know _me_. And yet you’re willing to take that chance.”

“Poor impulse control,” Tony says immediately.

Or just a big, hopeful heart, that battles stubbornly against all the fear and disappointment that it’s lived through before.

“So, do you want to go out?” Steve says. “With me?”

“On a date? Yep. Where’s the menu?” Tony turns, searching for the display board. “I’m parched.”

“You mean, right now?”

“You’re here, I’m here, and I still want to talk about the app.”

“Oh God,” Steve says with a laugh. The stubborn, mischievous tilt of Tony’s head is, in the end, utterly irresistible. “Well, I’ll have to check with the boss first. I _am_ working right now, after all.”

“As it happens, I know your boss, and he’s perfectly fine with you taking a break.”

“In that case, I concede. You’ve strong-armed me.”

“Please.” Tony makes a face, though the smile he’s suppressing lights up his eyes anyway. “You didn’t need that much convincing.”

“Just a little.”

“Very little. You were gonna be into me no matter what. I could tell.”

“That sure, are you?”

“I had no doubt _what_ soever.”

“Even though I didn’t ask for your number?”

“You probably thought I don’t remember what my number is, not that that is a thing has actually happened to me before in my life ever. Because I totally remember my phone number. And yours, if you’d give it to me right now.”

This isn’t what Steve thought he’d be doing today, but he’s open to the change of plans.

+

Tony has his powers of persuasion, but so does Steve. In the aftermath of what is their official first date, Steve decides that _Breaking & Sending_ shall be discontinued, but it will be replaced with a spin-off service with a tighter TOS, a better network of resources, and a clearer mission statement.

It’s a big change, though, and will require a great deal more planning and engagement with outside partners. Steve’s refused all of Tony’s suggestions that they work with one of SI’s subsidiaries (“I don’t run _any_ of it anymore!” “That’s not the point.”) but he will use some of Tony’s general industry contacts to make inquiries of his own. At this rate, they really will need new office space, likely by the end of the year.

Announcing to the rest of the team what Steve wants to do to BS is somewhat easier than announcing the… _other_ thing.

“I don’t want to hear any comments or inappropriate jokes from any of you about Tony’s history with _Breaking_.” Steve has the whole team’s attention, and is standing tall and severe as he addresses them. “Or any other history or facts that you think you know about him.”

Scott puts his hand up.

“Yes, Scott?”

“What if Stark brings up his BS history first, in a jocular way?” Scott says.

“Then that’s fine.”

“Geez, Steve,” Bucky says. “Just say that you really like the guy. We know what to do.”

Steve keeps his scowl fierce, though he’s very much aware that he’s blushing up to his roots. “I really like the guy. Understood?”

There’s a chorus of acknowledgements from around the room. Natasha, though, has a face as if she has no idea who Tony Stark is and it’s a complete surprise that Steve’s dating him now. Steve doesn’t mind; Rhodey made the same face when Steve and Tony told him.

As for Steve and Tony, the dating thing turns out to be a good idea. Tony’s like no one else Steve’s known, every day brings with it something new, and although they have their ups and downs, they don’t break up – not once, not ever, not even for a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/621710533152964608/fic-2-for-marvel-trumps-hate-2019)


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